


The Shoot

by tilda



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilda/pseuds/tilda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Harry took the pictures for Nick's Topman Collection?</p><p><i>They’ve all been here for five hours now, Nick’s worn approximately nine hundred and fifty seven outfits, he’s had to watch Harry scoot about being </i>professional<i> and </i>competent<i> for all of that time and he is one touch away from a raging fucking hard-on and he needs everyone to leave, really soon.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shoot

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: I've made a few minor edits since I first posted this.

Nick wants everyone to leave. 

They’re all very nice – James the Assistant, Narita the Stylist, and The Actual Designer, who generously let Nick put his name to her creations – they’re sweet and helpful. Fun, possibly. But they’ve all been here for five hours now, Nick’s worn approximately nine hundred and fifty seven outfits, he’s had to watch Harry scoot about being _professional_ and _competent_ for all of that time and he is one touch away from a raging fucking hard-on and he needs everyone to leave, really soon.

It’s been weird, to be honest, and nothing like Nick expected. When he agreed to let Harry shoot his first fashion line, he was doubtful at first – he knew the press would be all over it. And then realised, _the press would be all over it_. But what swung it was the idea of being the focus of Harry’s attention for a whole day. He doesn’t get that much anymore.

At the beginning of the shoot, Nick was looking forward to engaging in their usual nonsense: bantering across the camera, a few heated gazes, and maybe some flirty touching. When Harry came over to adjust Nick’s shirt at one point, Nick got his best twinkly look ready for when Harry caught his eye. But Harry just regarded Nick’s shirt critically after tugging the sleeve into place then walked back to the camera. When he looked at Nick again it was with a slight frown. 

It was like Nick wasn’t even there. It was like this was Harry’s _job_ or something.

So Nick readjusted his expectations. He could do this. Professional wasn’t his middle name because Eileen Grimshaw wasn’t that kind of parent, but he could fucking act like it was.

He posed and mugged for the camera, looking shy and moody and coy and deep in thought. He wasn’t any of these things, but he could do a good impression of them. Harry came over a few more times, and Nick held still and avoided his gaze as Harry did what he needed, calling over his shoulder for some more matt powder, or for the spot to be adjusted. 

And Nick watched Harry work. Nick knew that Harry working was a very different creature to Harry mooching about the house. He used to watch Harry working with the boys all the time. But that wasn’t anything like this. Here, Harry’s focus was intense. Intensely on the camera, intensely through the viewfinder, listening to Narita explain her ideas, intensely on the hang of the fabric, and very intensely not on Nick at all. It was in fact the opposite of being the centre of Harry’s attention. It was like being ignored all day. 

And it was all, rather unexpectedly, a huge turn-on. He’d never had Harry unavailable to him like this, out of his reach. Harry wasn’t that kind of guy. It was a whole new experience.

So, with six o’clock approaching, and with most of the outfits worked through, Nick wants rid. And at last lights are being switched off, make-up’s being packed away, clothes shrouded in polythene and Narita and James are being waved off to the pub with promises to join them later. Nick breathes again.

Harry closes the door to the studio and Nick’s halfway towards him when he says, ‘Actually do you mind if we do a couple more? Just in street clothes for comparison?’ And he goes back over to his camera and starts fiddling with it, and Nick wants to cry. 

But he obediently goes back over to the stool they’d been using, and sits and waits. Just a few more shots, he said, then Nick’ll be able to crowd him against the nearest wall and give him the head he so richly doesn’t deserve right now. A light goes on, gentler than the bright spots they’d been using before. There’s no other lighting in the studio now so it makes Harry more difficult to see.

The camera-shutter goes off. 

‘Oh. Have you started. I wasn’t - ’

The shutter goes again. 

‘It’s ok.’ Harry says from somewhere in the shadows. ‘They’re just test shots.’ 

And again.

Nick shifts in his seat. ‘Ok. Do you want me to... ?’

‘No. It’s fine. Whatever you feel like. You can just sit there.’

Ok, so. Nick lets his brain go dentist-waiting-room, thinking about nothing while the shutter goes off at him. He drifts.

Until Harry’s voice sounds out of the darkness again.

‘God, you’re lovely.’ 

Nick doesn’t think he’s heard right at first. Harry’s brisk daytime tone is gone, his voice softer and more recognisable, but still unfamiliar.

‘Am I?’ 

It’s all Nick can think to say with his suddenly dry mouth.

‘Yeah,’ Harry replies, still shooting. ‘I love your face. I’ve been looking at it all day, and it’s just, you know.’

‘No,’ Nick says into the shadows behind the camera. ‘I don’t.’

He doesn’t. Harry’s soppy, but he doesn’t say stuff like this, about Nick’s _face_. Nick’s face is wonky and too big and he suspects he has way more teeth than the average person.

‘Gorgeous,’ Harry murmurs, as if he’s forgotten Nick can hear.

 _Oh god_. 

‘Harry,’ he says.

‘What?’

The sound of the shutter continues.

‘Stop.’

‘Stop what?’ The shutter sound stops.

‘Come here.’

Harry straightens up behind the camera. He stands there for a moment or two before he moves out from behind it. As he crosses the studio, his hands are still for the first time that day. They’re not operating a light meter, or adjusting a lens, or fiddling with a garment. They just hang by his sides as he comes toward Nick. There’s an expression on his face that Nick can’t quite place. They hold each other’s gaze until Harry is standing over Nick, slightly taller because Nick’s sitting on the stool.

‘I’ve been watching you all day too,’ Nick says. Harry’s gaze is darting hungrily over Nick’s face. Nick’s fairly sure he’s doing the same thing. It’s something they’ve got very good at, since they can’t really touch in public.

‘Have you?’ Harry’s mouth tilts, amused.

‘Yeah. It’s easy. You’ve been ignoring me the whole time.’

The amused tilt falters. ‘I know,’ Harry says. ‘I had to. Because the second I drop concentration to flirt with you it looks like I got the gig because of you.’

‘Hey.’ Nick reaches up to drag a thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. ‘It’s ok. It was weirdly hot. I watched you work all day, bossing people about - ’

‘I don’t boss - ’

‘- being all _expert_ about lighting levels.’

‘Well.’ The tilt becomes a smirk. ‘The lighting, now you mention it - ’

‘Kiss me,’ Nick says, and the teasing falls away and Harry doesn’t need anything else. He drops his mouth to Nick’s and it’s soft and blessed. They hold still, swaying a little in the half-light of the studio, getting used to it, taking it in. They haven’t kissed since Harry’s been back in the country. They’ve both been busy.

They pull away at the same moment and breathe out, then come together again, for real. They open for each other, and Harry’s thumbs are on Nick’s jaw and neck, then behind his ear, his fingers digging into Nick’s hair. The kiss deepens, becomes starving, lips pulled between teeth, tongues sucked.

‘I’ve been wanting to fuck you since about ten past one,’ Nick says between kisses.

‘Only ten past one?’ Harry wades in between Nick’s splayed thighs. ‘Used to be when I walked in the room.’

‘Cocky. I’m getting old.’ Nick squeezes a handful of Harry’s arse and they both let out little moans. ‘How we gonna do this?’ Nick asks. They’ve been at this too long to play or tease much once they get down to it. 

Harry nods over to the other end of the studio. ‘There’s a sofa over there.’

‘Excellent. Didn’t really fancy the floor.’

Neither of them mention the fact that neither of them suggest going to one of their respective homes. Harry hands Nick chivalrously off the stool, making them both giggle and they walk hand in hand to the dark end of the studio, a skylight still letting in the last of the dusk. 

They turn to each other under its dim light and come together, Nick sliding his hands up Harry’s t-shirt, palming his nipples, before dragging it over his head with Harry’s help. It amazes Nick how quickly the outside world can disappear when he’s with Harry, how fast it just becomes them two and this thing they have. 

Harry goes for Nick’s buttons, too quick, popping one off - ‘ooh impatient’, ‘shut up’ - spreading his shirt open and sinking his mouth onto the base of Nick’s neck, making him shiver. Nick slides his hands down to undo the top button of Harry’s jeans with a practiced finger-and-thumb-twist and palms down over the bulge, squeezing. 

Harry lets out a shaky breath and pushes into Nick’s grip. ‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘What you do to me.’ 

They find each other’s mouths again. ‘I know,’ Nick says against his lips.

For two people not able to commit, they’ve both been really good at creating something so consistent, so predictable without being boring, so endlessly repeatable, it’s hard to see the difference with the naked eye. Longer than usual gaps between meetings, Nick supposes. Continents separating them, that kind of thing.

Harry’s lifting Nick’s hand away now, undoing his jeans the rest of the way himself at the same time as toeing off his boots. He strips it all off in a way that still makes Nick wince though it must be the thousandth time he’s seen it, and then Harry’s standing there naked. In the dim light he’s all shadow and eye-glint and lower down, a glisten of pre-come. 

Nick wants to touch. Harry comes towards him and Nick wraps his hand around Harry’s cock, sliding up and down his length as Harry’s arms fold round him. He settles into Nick’s grip, rutting into his hand as they exchange breaths and bites and sucks. He’s bigger than he used to be, has the confidence and the body to push Nick around a bit, but he doesn’t, much. 

Instead Nick finds himself pushing Harry towards the sofa, the edge catching Harry’s calves and buckling him under Nick. Nick crawls over him and thumbs open his own flies. Harry slides his hand in, big and warm over Nick’s bare cock. Nick gasps and Harry says ‘Ooh, no knickers,’ grinning against his mouth and they fuck each other’s hands for a little while.

Part of Nick just wants to stay like this, cocks in hands, primal, actual fucking too sophisticated for what they want. They just want to stick their tongues in each other’s mouths and feel each other come. It’s simple, it’s always been incredibly simple.

But Harry starts to tug Nick against him with his thighs and ankles, moves his hand out from between them so he can cup Nick’s arse. ‘Come on,’ he says and god Nick wants to fuck him, of _course_ Nick wants to fuck him. He shuffles up onto his knees to rummage for the little sachet of lube in his pocket but when he’s found it, Harry’s reached up to swipe it out of his hand. ‘Me,’ he says simply. ‘You lie down.’

‘All right, Tarzan,’ Nick says, and Harry lets out an uncontrollable snigger. ‘Keep your hair on.’

They swap places and their giggles fade as Nick lies back, shoving his jeans down far enough to free his cock and Harry settles himself over Nick, one foot on the floor to prep himself. The shadow of his arm disappears behind himself and there’s a little intake of breath as Harry’s head tips back. Harry’s shadow moves up and down and Nick hears Harry’s steady breath as he opens himself up.

‘Fuck, I wish I could see you,’ he says, not able to stop himself.

Harry pauses, and goes to push himself off the sofa. ‘I could get the light...’

Nick tugs him back, dick too impatient. ‘No. No. Just come fuck me.’

So Harry does, lowering himself down over Nick

(No condom. They both get tested on the reg. ‘I trust him,’ Nick had said firmly to Henry’s horrified look.

‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ Henry had responded.)

and Nick guides him, fingers on Harry’s hips, feeling the first hot slide over his cock, making Nick swallow and his eyes sink shut, all sensation now. ‘God,’ he murmurs. He pushes up and Harry grunts softly, pressing down to meet him, and they stay like that for a moment or two, pressing against each other, Harry tightening around Nick, Nick circling a bit, before Harry pulls off and slides down again. Nick exhales slow as Harry finds a rhythm, bouncing lightly on Nick, using his leg on the floor as leverage.

‘Show off,’ he gasps out.

Harry speeds up a little, making his breath come faster. ‘You complaining?’ he puffs out.

Nick shakes his head wordlessly, Harry’s arse on his cock is making his eyes water and he lies back and takes it, lets Harry move on him. He spreads his hand around Harry’s hip, and it travels up and down with Harry’s movements. Nick rides what Harry’s giving him, a continuous slide of pleasure around his cock, unrelenting, slowly edging towards pain, almost unbearable. ‘Jesus, how long can you do that for?’

Harry’s movements slow, which somehow make it even worse, tripping Nick too close to coming. He doesn’t want to yet. He pushes himself up towards Harry and they join mouths. It interrupts Harry and his rhythm breaks as they tongue each other sloppily. ‘Fuck me,’ Nick murmurs.

‘I am.’ 

Their words are breaths swapped between touching lips. 

‘No. I mean. The other way round.’

‘Oh.’ 

_Ooooh_ , a long sigh into Nick’s mouth. Harry cants his hips and sinks down a couple more times and Nick thinks Harry’s just going to carry on riding him. But then he pulls off and shuffles back, giving Nick room to move. Nick turns over onto his knees and elbows, feeling shameless, and Harry’s fingers are immediately at his hips, his cock sliding against Nick’s crack. 

‘Is there any left?’ Nick asks into his shoulder. He can feel Harry’s pre-come, a little slick, but that’s not going to be enough. 

‘A bit, I think.’

There’s a rustle and then cold against Nick’s hole, making it pucker reflexively. 

‘You ok?’ A finger smooths over his opening, soothing, but nudging in, testing. 

‘Nmph. Yeah. Go on.’

Harry’s finger edges further in, then slides in on a rush as Nick’s initial tightness opens out. ‘Christ,’ Harry says. ‘Doesn’t take much, does it?’

Nick shakes his head, closing his eyes and bearing down on Harry’s finger which is suddenly laughably inadequate. ‘You’re good to go now.’

‘God, and you think I’m a tart.’ 

Harry’s sex life is an endless source of teasing, without Nick knowing much about it really. Then the head of Harry’s cock is large against Nick’s hole and pressing in, and he doesn’t give a shit who else Harry fucks as long as he fucks Nick. 

‘ _Yeeeah,_ ’ is Nick’s witty retort, delivered in a groan. Harry slides in all the way. ‘Ah, fuck yes.’

Nick’s cry is matched by Harry’s ‘God,’ and he starts to fuck Nick in earnest. Nick feels it everywhere, in his belly, in his chest, throbbing between his ears, behind his eyes. He doesn’t need to touch his cock for now, this is enough. A groan is being pushed out of him with every thrust and he can hear Harry as well. They both make a bloody racket when they fuck like this, and Nick just has to hope there’s no one left in the building, and if there is, they’re discreet. 

‘You close?’ Harry pants out.

‘No.’ Nick doesn’t care. He’s rocking happily in time to Harry shoving into him. 

‘Hands,’ Harry says. 

‘Wha’?’

‘On your hands.’

Nick pushes himself up onto his hands from his elbows, his back lengthening, Harry sinking in deeper. ‘Mmmmm,’ Nick says. 

He has only the vaguest idea what Harry’s up to and is just thinking whatever it is it’s great when he feels his shirt shoved up over his back so it’s wrapped around his neck and tops of his shoulders. Then Harry’s chest is against Nick’s bare back, and Harry’s hand is wrapping around his cock. Harry can’t maintain the pounding rhythm into Nick in this position, but all the extra sensation somehow makes up for it. 

Nick locks his shoulders, pushing up into Harry’s body, rocking them both together, and now with Harry’s hand on his cock, he’s nearly there. He focuses on the wetness of Harry’s mouth clamped against that sweet spot at the bottom of his neck, on the slide of his cock, spreading him, in and out of him, and on Harry’s hand, light and firm and quick over his prick. 

And that’s all it takes, he’s coming, a gentle swoop, spilling over, barely noticeable, and he realises how close he’s been since Harry first sank down on him, that he was a touch away, a kiss away. He feels the come hit his chest, most of it hitting the sofa, maybe some on Harry’s hand. 

Then Harry pulls away and Nick’s back is exposed as Harry starts pounding into Nick, his cries wild and loud before he’s squeezing dead against Nick’s hole, his cock tightening inside him, pulsing, pushing Nick’s rim out.

_Ah._

_Ah._

_Ah._

Harry’s voice sounds out in time with the pulses.

They both breathe heavily after, not moving. Nick lets his head drop and shifts down to his elbows, Harry following, softening inside him before pulling out. Nick groans and collapses onto his side, Harry somehow stuffing himself in behind him on the ridiculous sofa.

‘Ugh. Get off. You’re too heavy.’

‘Can’t move.’

Harry’s hand lands on Nick’s hip. Nick ought to hate it, push Harry off – he’s hot and sticky and just wants to breathe. But Nick rests his own hand on top of Harry’s and they tangle fingers as they get their breath back. They don’t move or say anything for a long while. Nick strokes his thumb over Harry’s. Teeth press gently against his shoulder, followed by a soft mouth. Nick closes his eyes.

They used to say ‘I love you’, sometimes. Nick tries not to think about why they don’t anymore. It’s not because they don’t. 

A boop from one of their phones sounds into the dark and quiet, making them still. 

‘It’s mine,’ Harry says eventually. He climbs off the sofa, unsticking himself from Nick, and the scratchy unpleasantness of the sofa against Nick’s bare skin is suddenly noticeable. He hops up too, grabs his jeans, tugging them up his legs, tucking himself in carefully. God he’s gross. He’ll shower when he gets home. 

Harry is hunched over his phone, still naked. ‘It’s Narita. Wants to know where we are.’

‘Fancy it?’

‘Not really. You?’

‘No.’

Harry’s thumbs work. Nick does his shirt up. He looks up a minute later and Harry is pulling on his own shirt, jeans on but still undone, the top of his pubes showing through the V of the fly. Even though Nick’s just come, he feels a reflexive jolt of desire, of raw want. He looks away, runs his fingers a couple of times through his hair and distracts himself with that. It’ll do for now, he decides. He goes over to his bag and rummages for his phone.

‘Gonna call a cab. Want one?’

Always separate now. 

‘Yes. Thanks.’

Nick perches on the stool as he calls the cab firm and makes the arrangements. Harry’s will come ten minutes after Nick’s – he’s still got stuff to pack up. Nick presses ‘end call’ and drops his arm, holding the phone loosely between his knees. He watches Harry move around the studio. He feels heavy. All that itchy longing from before has gone, fucked out of him. 

He’s startled by his phone vibrating briefly against his palm. He looks at the screen. The cab’s here. He gets up off the stool.

‘Gotta go,’ Nick says. Harry looks up from the camera case he’s been carefully packing. ‘Off back to La-la land then?’ Nick enquires. He's had a lot of practice feigning casual interest in Harry’s schedule over the years. His voice doesn’t quaver once and the subtextual ‘Please don't go’ is no longer nakedly obvious.

‘I’ll be back for the launch.’

‘You’re coming?’ Nick is surprised.

‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?’

Nick shrugs. ‘Thought you were off the radar at the moment.’ 

Harry looks down at the lens in his hand for a moment, but makes no move to pack it away. ‘Hey,’ he says after a minute. ‘Wanna make a splash?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why don’t we go out? Like on the day. Properly.’

‘Wow, that’d be.’ Nick havers. It’d be huge, is what it would be. It’d be cameras in their faces and tabloid headlines, for sure. ‘Intense.’ 

Harry must sense his doubts. ‘Come on, Nick. Use me. It’d be amazing for the collection.’

Nick doesn't need Harry. He'd get perfectly healthy exposure without him. ‘I don’t wanna use you,’ he laughs. ‘You’re my mate.’

‘It’s ok.’ Harry smiles lopsidedly. ‘I give you my permission.’

‘I don’t need...’ Nick takes in Harry’s expression, eyes sparking. It'd be an added extra, a little boost. It'd be fun. ‘Ok, fuck it. Yeah, all right. Let’s do it.’

‘ _Sick_.’ 

Nick’s phone vibrates again so he goes over for a goodbye kiss, holding it for a beat, taking a handful of Harry’s hair, tugging it gently. ‘You better wash this by then,’ he says as he pulls away.

‘What, and lose all my power?’ Harry says. 

Nick’s at the door now. ‘That’s _cutting_ your hair,’ he calls, on his way out. ‘You’re disgustiiiing,’ he sings as he goes down the stairs.

In the cab, he thinks about the launch. Up to their old tricks, at least for a day. The fact that they have the perfect excuse – _It’s for promo_ , he hears himself tell Simon – feels like they’re getting away with something. Maybe they are.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He'll get it later. It digs into his hip, reminding him of his grungy state. His clothes are foreign against his skin, his crotch damp, all of it three steps away from comfortable, but underneath his scratchy jeans and torn shirt, the discomfort of the outside world, he carries the memory of Harry under his skin, warm and powerful, always there.


End file.
